Footsteps of a Young Villain
by Crafter
Summary: I never believed the Unforgivables were unforgivable, until I watched the Dark Lord use Imperius on my father.


The characters and world of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowlings, and I'm certainly not making any money off of them, just borrowing them for my own amusement.

Chapter One - Behind Blue Eyes

My hand closes firmly around the black hilt of the sword.

As I pick it up, I keep my gaze darting around the room. They are motionless, some in shock, others waiting patiently.

The edge of it scrapes a little against the dirt, my arm is weaker than I thought. I adjust quickly, bring it up the rest of the way smoothly, the tip in front of me but down, unthreatening.

The blood drips off the tip slowly. My fathers blood. My father. Killed by his own sword, the Malfoy sword.

I push the thought down, and force my head down as well. It's easier to keep the emotions at bay this way.

I move to stand before him, walking past the headless body without a sideways glance, straight through the blood. I leave red smudges in my wake.

I force my body to show subservience, shoulders bowed, sword carefully loose at my side. I can't let my hands fist like they want to.

I don't speak. There are no words, no thoughts in my mind.

I am in shock. I am enraged.

The Dark Lord ignores me as I stand silent before him, his red gaze sweeping the ranks of his gathered Death Eaters.

"This is the price of betrayal," he murmurs. The amplification spell makes it seem like he is whispering just behind everyone's ear.

"For loyalty, there are rewards. For any who wish to follow Lucius Malfoy's example, there is no mercy." Many hoods shift to glance at the body lying in the center of the circle of people.

"Any betrayal is a terrible blow, but coming from one my oldest followers, it is more terrible still." He pauses, and a small smile creeps to his face.

"It is fitting that he died upon his own sword, by his own hand. My will, my magic can never be swayed." My knuckles whiten where I grip my father's sword.

I never considered the Unforgivables to be unforgivable, until I watched the Dark Lord use Imperius on my father.

"Yet, the fall of one mighty tree can lead to the growth of a younger one." The red eyes focus on me and I bow from the waist, careful to relax my fists.

"Mr. Malfoy, you have proven your loyalty. No bond, not of money, or station, or family, can be greater than my Dark Mark."

A pale hand beckons me closer, so I take measured steps, coming just outside arms reach, and then I kneel before him.

The sword is heavy in my grasp. I hold it horizontally before me, the blade trembles slightly. My other hand rises to hold the pointed, bloody tip. I keep my head bowed.

"For loyalty, there are rewards. I will allow you to renew your family's pledge of fealty to myself, and to our great cause." He throws his arms wide in emphasis and takes one step forward.

"May all bear witness, as Draconis Malfoy, head of the Malfoy family, pledges his life, his spirit, and his magic to his Lord and rightful Master. Draconis Malfoy, by what right do you kneel before me?" His hands hover before him, his wand gripped at both ends as he waits for me to finish my half of the ritual.

I welcome the cold rage, drown in it. My voice is steady and passionless as I speak. "I am descended from the line of Malconis, I am pureblooded in life, spirit, and magic. Upon this blade, the sword and symbol of the Malfoy family, I pledge myself, Draconis Malfoy, and the Malfoy family to you and your cause. You are my Lord and rightful Master." My lips are dry. My eyes burn.

"Who bears witness?" The Dark Lord demands of his followers, his gaze commanding their obedience.

Dozens of voices murmur back, their heads bowed, "We do, my Lord."

He smirks, and bends from the waist to complete the ritual, to accept my pledge of fealty. He is stopped halfway through the motion.

The ancient Malfoy sword burns through his personal wards like fire through paper. It slides past his robes and skin, between his ribs. I pierce his heart, one handed, as I kneel before him.

He pulls back, but I follow him, rising to my feet and pushing him back. The force presses the tip of my sword out his back. He has dropped his wand to grasp at the blade in his chest; his red gaze is dulled by shock.

I pull with the sword and kick one bloodstained boot into his abdomen, sending him flying to the ground.

I can hear the gasps and stumbling from behind me. The Death Eaters are quickly gathering their wits.

I stomp on the thin, crooked wand lying on the ground as I fish the necklace out of my robes.

I hear chanting and the rush of feet behind me, but they are too late. The moment I murmur "home," I am swept away by the portkey.


End file.
